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1133 Words
It was quite logical, really, since the more Fragments existed, the larger the Core of power would be.
Hadjar didn’t mind admitting to himself that he was quite pleased with his results. He had no desire to be a genius. As long he had his sword, even the gods themselves would come to regret it if they stood in the way of his vengeance.
He didn’t need talent for cultivation, or regalia, or a title—only the sword. He would prevail against everything with it and conquer anything that existed under the endless sky that came between him and his destiny.
Hadjar opened his eyes.
The air in his tent vibrated slightly, and the talisman, which had recently ‘entered’ reality, appeared before him again. A strip of yellow paper spun in the air before him, emitting a beautiful, orange light, warning him of approaching danger.
Hadjar adjusted his battered, torn and patched up clothes. He then stroked the sleeping, purring Azrea, took the sheath that contained his sword, and left the tent.
“Is he here?” Serra asked, tying her belt.
Behind her, Nero was hopping on one leg, trying to get his boot on the other one, but wasn’t having much success.
“Why do you presume it’s a ‘He’?” a female voice asked in the darkness.
Message to host:
A lethal unit has been detected within the area designated for monitoring.
An assassin from the Ax clan was hiding in the shadows. Judging by the emanations of her aura, she was at the Transformation of the Body stage. Hadjar had already fought a practitioner of that same level, and he’d been much weaker at the time.
“You didn’t have to get up.” Hadjar looked at the pair, shook his head, and unsheathed his sword. “I can do this myself.”
“But...”
Nero laid his hand on Serra’s shoulder and pointed behind him with his eyes. This time, the girl didn’t argue. She moved back and stood behind Nero as he also unsheathed his sword.
“I don’t need your help, Nero. This is my battle.”
“Of course, my friend.” A predatory smile flashed across his features. “But if you stumble, I’ll chop her head off before she cuts your throat.”
Hadjar chuckled. It was damn pleasant to know he always had his friend’s support, even in the most dangerous of situations.
“Have you finished discussing everything, my dear?” the voice from the shadows asked.
“Come out, assassin,” Hadjar replied, in no mood to prolong this foolishness.
He had no doubt that the whole camp would be fast asleep by now. The sleeping potion they had handed out earlier in the evening had sent his squad into deep oblivion. Nero and Serra hadn’t fallen asleep only because of... demons knew what. Hadjar sometimes thought it odd that most poisons and potions didn’t affect his friend. And why the caster hadn’t fallen asleep was something only she knew.
From the darkness, a woman came out into the light. She wasn’t insanely beautiful, but she was clearly pretty enough that she wouldn’t have any difficulties attracting the attention of suitors. Her long, black hair had a wide, red ribbon in it, which seemingly possessed its own consciousness.
The ribbon served as both a belt and a thread, linking the handles of her daggers. The daggers’ blades resembled the sharpened stems of beautiful flowers, and the guards looked like flower buds.
The assassin’s long, strong legs could be seen through a narrow slit in her lengthy silk clothing, and she approached barefoot, without making the slightest sound. She didn’t smell like perfume or have any natural fragrance, for obvious reasons, and a moment later, the emanations of her aura also disappeared.
If he were to cover his eyes, it would be like no one was standing before him.
“Why have you shown yourself?” Hadjar asked. “Your colleagues all attacked me from the shadows.”
“I wished to look upon the legendary Officer Hadjar.” Even her voice was light and strangely unmemorable. Like the gentle murmur of water as it lapped against the shore.
As she spoke, her clothes slid slightly down her left shoulder, exposing the tempting curve of her shoulder and a tattoo. There was also a jagged, red line that ran from her plump, lower lip down to her neckline.
“Have you finished looking at me?” the assassin asked, lowering her daggers and stopping when she was eighty feet from Hadjar. Apparently, word had gotten around and she knew about his ability to strike at a distance of nineteen steps.
“Don’t be angry with me, Officer. I feel nothing toward you, except perhaps gratitude and respect,” she continued.
“Gratitude?” Hadjar was surprised. This was rapidly turning out to be the strangest assassination experience of his life.
Never before had the assassins sent by General Larvie thanked him.
“My family used to live in one of the villages looted by the nomads. My father, mother, and my brother with his wife and children…”
Hadjar also lowered his blade. Now he understood why she’d felt the need to talk before attempting to take his life.
“Then go away. Leave,” he implored. She’d already suffered enough loss. Her life seemed to be the only thing she had left to lose.
The assassin laughed despondently.
“You know that I can’t do that, Officer. I am from the Ax clan. We are paid money. We do the work we’re paid for.”
“I’ll pay twice as much for you to go,” he offered, though he feared he already knew her answer.
The assassin’s gaze became angry.
“Don’t insult me, Officer. You warriors have your own notions of honor. We have them, too. If I am paid, I’ll execute the order or I’ll die trying.”
For a while, they stood and silently looked at one another. Then they both put their right hand, clenched in a fist, against their open left palm. They bowed, paying their respects to each other’s honor and valor.
This time, not an assassin, but rather, a warrior, had come to take Hadjar’s life — no matter what she claimed to be — and Hadjar had respect for any warrior. He knew that it wasn’t easy to put one’s life on the line time and time again.
She took her fighting stance, holding the right dagger in front of her and the left one behind her back. The wide, red ribbon fluttered faster, circling around her like a cocoon.
Hadjar seemed relaxed, lowering his blade and enjoying the east wind as it ruffled his long hair.
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